


Bite Me

by plsnskanks (orphan_account)



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Monster Tom, Oviposition, Sex Toys, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-01 18:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/plsnskanks
Summary: moved to front bc prequel chapter





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> moved to front bc prequel chapter

Tom is running.

He is running down this twisted winding street and he can here the tramp of boots behind him and fuck. He knows, he just knows, that if Tord gets him, they are done for. He has all this sensitive information from Edd because Edd trusts him.

And he is one hundred percent going to fuck it all up if they catch him.

When they catch him.

Because he is getting tired and winded and his body is doing weird things since he’s been in hiding for weeks without any sort of steady supply of food, water, or suppressants.

He’s seven different levels of fucked up across all boards and when he turns his head to look back and see that Tord’s stupid little lackies are no more than a step behind him, he panics.

One of them, maybe one of the grunts in the back of the pack, lets loose a shot. There is an immediate outcry from Tord’s second in command, was it Peter? He chastises the soldier and tells him Tord wants Tom alive and as unharmed as possible.

Tom can’t hear it. Tom can’t hear much of anything because his ears are ringing and when he puts his hand to his cheek to feel where the bullet grazed his fucking face, oh my god it was that close, that near to-

Tom has never had a good grasp on his shifts. They usually come when he least expects them to. Often out of the blue, just bam, shift. Before now, he has never really been in a situation of such consistent stress.

But when he pulls his hand away from his cheek and looks at that full palm of red.

Tom is gone. Gone from the dirty alleyway where he is being hunted by Tord’s stupid pack of mindless bloodhounds. 

The dogs rear back as their prey suddenly towers over them with far more teeth than they ever anticipated him having. They fire a volley of bullets on reflex and Patryk is screaming for them to hold off, to not escalate. Tom looks at them for a moment, before turning to look towards the end of the alleyway. He spots a tank, the green canvas of some kind of line of tents, and after that a wide breadth of street that offers a route of escape.

Tom is gone, rushing away from the fresh hail of bullets. He is crashing into the tank bodily, pushing it until he feels it start to tip. He manages to get it fully on it’s side. Then he is continuing to push. The tracks are skidding along the ground, leaving gouges in the street. Tom pushes the tank until it is snugly planted against the building on the opposite side of the street.

He stops. Heaving, panting, looking at the line of green tents now unprotected, blocking his way out. They each have a large square with a red cross on it. In his normal state, Tom would know, he shouldn’t touch those.

He should run the other way, because even in war, there were still rules. Rules that were often circumvented sure, but there nonetheless. And Tom would know that breaking those rules was not a gamble he should take after being on such a long losing streak.

But Tom is not himself.

So he rages through the tents, ripping them out of the ground as he bustles by, pulling up to reveal bloodied bandaged men and screaming nurses and he can’t understand for a minute what he is doing only that out is beyond this field of green, and that behind is nothing but fear and agony.

________

Tord is monitoring the comms when roughly the equivalent of a giant mike reverb happens across the channel as nearly twenty voices come screaming on at once. Tord quickly lowers the volume and switches to his private channel, picking up his comm.

“Patryk, explain why the common comm channel is currently unusable.”

After a moment Paul’s voice crackles onto the channel, “Well sir, we have managed to locate Tom.”

“Alright, and he and Edd landed some kind of attack?” Tord asked impatiently.

“Ah, no. Just Tom, alone and unarmed,” Paul responded, and Tord still can’t figure out why he sounds so damn nervous, it’s not like Tom alone is anything to worry about. Unless….

“What is Tom’s current location and status?” 

Dead silence. Tord is about to ask the question again when Patryk comes on. “He is fully shifted and currently in the field hospital, moving north.”

“Okay what is to the north that we can’t stand to lose?”

“Anti aircraft and munitions,” Paul replies. Tord pinches his brow. Of course it’s critical. Tom just has that fucking knack for popping up in the worst place at the worst time without even intending to. He’s just lucky like that.

“Alright, radio lab, tell them I want the D-80 compound distributed to our special ops team, have them read to load within the half, I will personally spearhead this mission. Send in backups to run cleanup, I will brief the team on specimen 617 on the flight over. Move whatever able bodies we have in the area to prevent Tom from reaching munitions.”

“Roger,” Paul replies immediately.

“Tord, you know that D-80 has had zero trial runs? It’s a fresh formula” Patryk says.

“I am aware.”

It could kill him. The sentence goes unfinished as everyone comes to a mutual understanding. Tom was a sentimental trophy, but he is to be thrown away instantly if he is putting their tactical stability at risk. 

Tord closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, listening to the quiet static of the vacant comms.

“Field hospital status?”

“Three tents uprooted, five casualties, but no death toll as of yet, if sources are reliable. Just a lot of hysteria. Seems like the space between tents gave Tom enough room to move through without upsetting much.

“Alright, I’m on my way. I want you two to join up with us as soon as we are in the area.”

Paul and Patryk share a mutual look and swallow. 

“Roger that, sir.”

\---------------

Paul remembers why he decided to follow Tord into hell on earth. It hits him as he watches Tord roll out from a smoldering wreck of a tank as Tom smashes it away with one clawed hand. It misses Tord by a meter. As he is running for new cover he is firing these horrifically accurate shots.

Do they all hit? No. Of course not. But he is hitting regularly with a weapon he isn’t quite accustomed to. He has got this look on his face, jaw set, eyes hard, zeroed in on the monster in front of him. 

Tom’s body is littered with little red darts, all over. It’s hard to tell, but his movements are getting more and more sluggish as the number of hits landing starts increasing. He lets out this frustrated roar and it trails off to a whine as Tom stumbles away from Tord and away from the darting figures firing their shots as well. He heads to the opposite side of the street, near a row of parked cars.

Tord meanwhile, follows Tom, arm out stretched, firing dark after dark, keeping a safe distance, but steadily keeping himself within range. His steps are smooth, polished, it’s like he’s marching for show, for an audience to adore his regal posture, and polished uniform.

Tom rears back and Paul thinks he’s getting read to swat a car over in Tord’s direction, but instead he is falling, falling on his side into one of the cars that crumples like a tin can under his weight and in the dented valley Tom settles as gradually his body starts to shift down. 

No one approaches until he is completely human, and even then it’s only when Tord rushes forward that everyone else follows suit.  
As Paul and Patryk approach Tord locks eyes with them.

“You two, take him back to base, get him to the medbay and get him checked out, after that, I want him in a holding cell with absolutely no range of movement permitted.

Both of them nod. Patryk glances at Tom’s body and wow. Aside from a few darts that failed to come unstuck, he looks fine. The wound on his cheek is gone and aside from the obvious grime and fatigue all over his body and posture, he looks pretty physically okay.

They carry him out and down a side street, where a waiting jeep idles for them.

\---------------

Tom wakes up and immediately panics as he is greeted by a wall of black and finds he has no use of his arms or legs. Even worse, he can feel it. That prickle present before, while he was running for his life.

It’s not a prickle anymore. It is a heat that radiates out from his groin and it only seems to worsen at the hours tick by. What feels like an eternity, is maybe four hours. Then the door opens.

“Alright Tom,” his stomach drops at the familiar voice. “We are going to make a deal.

“I don’t negotiate with assholes, Green Army policy,” Tom snarls.

“Mmm, very interesting words coming out the mouth of a man who has absolutely no chips to bargain with. What I mean by deal is, I will give you two options, you can pick one, or I can pick for you,” Tord says, and his voice gets louder as he approaches.

“Option one, we can hang you for war crimes, since you nearly destroyed a field hospital. Option two, you join the red army as my personal assistant.”

“I burn off half your face and you want me to come work for you as… a secretary?” Tom feels like screaming at the ludicrousness of Tord’s proposal. 

“A little off base, but yes. You work for me, you help me gather intel on your former alliance, and I don’t leave you to the crows,” Tord says.

“How about you go fuck yourself,” Tom spits. He is full of piss and vinegar, ready to have whatever is on his face taken off and his hands set free so he can look Tord in the eye as he punches him in his stupid fa-

The blindfold is ripped off and he is faced with Tord’s furious face inches from his. 

“Do you want to know the numerous suggestions my board of command had for what to do with you? Death by firing squad, death by hanging, tie you up and leave you to the fresh meat. You smell like hell, you’re a walking death sentence and keeping my command from full mutiny while keeping you alive is a masterpiece on its own. So. If you want to make it through this and see Edd, or Matt or your own reflection ever again, I am going to need you to sing whatever song and dance I tell you to.”

Tom stares at him speechless. He weighs his options. Is letting his distaste for Tord worth getting shot? Part of him says yes. Fuck yes. That part of him is stupid. Shut up. The well put together part of him knows there is a smarter way to play this.

Tord is letting him in. Into his base, into his army, into his mind, if Tom works this well. He can get leverage, he can get info. He can win this war for Edd by playing his hand under the table.

“Alright,” he says after a long pause.

Tord looks at him, cocking an eyebrow, “Alright what?”

“I’ll work for you,” Tom says, avoiding eye contact. He opts to look at the floor instead.

“One other thing. I am going to be your bonded alpha.”

“Fucking hell you are,” Tom snarls, and that’s it for Tord’s patience. He has his hand on Tom’s crotch and Tom is trying to flinch away, oh god he’s going to get castrated right here and now, fucking hell his groin has been through enough with all his restraints and the chafing and- oh, that feels kinda good. Actually it feels, really, really good. Tord is rubbing him, massaging his package, using just the right amount of pressure and Tom can hear the squishing noises as his crotch is starting to get wet.

Tom looks up and his blood runs cold as Tord is glaring at him with a look that could freeze over hell. “You are a war criminal. You are an omega. You are a symbol of a revolution and everyone in this base knows it. I will not have it looking like I am being given the run around or manipulated by an omega,” Tom wants to fight him at the way he spits that word like a dirty slur, “I will not have my officers thinking you have sway over me. You will be presented as a spoil of war, and if you can’t handle that, I can let my board decide your fate.”

“I-I want, hgh, a promise, that you won’t kill Edd if you get him,” Tom pants. His head is fogging up and those fingers are starting to slip into his pants and he is trying really hard to keep all his thoughts from heading south with that hand. He needs to at least get this.

“Deal, if captured, I swear we will not execute him. Don’t think he is going to walk free in this lifetime though. I’ll even give you visiting rights,” Tord says and yeah. Okay. Tom can do that. He can trade a bit of his dignity to keep Edd and Matt in the green zone. He can always find a way to bust them out from the inside anyways.

“Alright, now Tom, do you want out of your restraints?” Tord asks as he stops touching him, pulling his hand out of his pants and wiping it on Tom.

“Yeah,” Tom pants. 

“Alright, I have to give you a dose of something to make sure you don’t shift while you are out. Can you let me do that?”

Tom doesn’t even really understand what Tord asked him but he nods either way. Tord takes out a needle and Tom is pressing himself away from it. Tord rolls up his sleeve, swabs his arm, and is jamming the needle into him.

Then the restraints are unlocked and Tom is stumbling out onto his own two feet. Tord comes closer to steady him and Tom wants to push him away. He smells. He wreaks. He is giving Tom an unwanted hard on and making his cunt throb like nothing else.

“I want some help,” Tom moans into Tord’s shoulder.

“You’ve been a bad boy Tom, destroyed two tanks while we were trying to get you.”

“You’re officers shot at me!” Rage. Rage helps his head clear a little as he pulls back, pushing away from Tord to glare at him. “Don’t treat me like a misbehaving child, my healing factor fixed it, but one of your fresh meat shot me in the cheek.”

Tord is looking at him very seriously, “In your cheek?”

“Well, he grazed it, but that’s the whole reason I shifted, to protect myself from your shitty, untrained army that you apparently have no handle on, oh great and honorable Red Leader. The way you are running it, I don’t see why Edd even actively tries to engage, you’ll run it into the ground all by yourself.”

Tom breaths out heavily and looks up to see Tord’s expression is pitch black. Any effort at being polite, cordial, gone. Tom gets the idea that he should book it. Get away, far away from Tord’s grasp. That’s what the smart voice in his little head tells him.

The voice that comes out of his mouth is pure stupid.

“So what are you going to do army man, you think you can keep me in line the way you do your little frontline fuckups,” Tom spits and smiles at Tord, canines gleaming. There is no being civil with this man. No being a fully functional, decent human being. Tord is the kind of person that brings the monster out in him, both figuratively and literally.

Tord’s inorganic hand is fisting in his hair and Tom feels himself being dragged bodily out of the room. He is dead quiet, no more verbal fencing, and Tom gets the idea he has just dug his own shallow grave. His tombstone reads “Here lies one dumb motherfucker.”

Tom has no clue where they are going. He tries to memorize the layout of the base as they go around corner after corner, through check point after check point. He gives up in the first five minutes. Tord has released his grip on his hair and instead ziptied his hands behind his back and is walking him as if he is worthy of being treated like a civil human being.

The guards salute him as they pass and Tom notes the way one of them occasionally will swallow, or his finger will tremble a little in his salute.

He thinks maybe he should be a little more nervous that he actually is. 

It’s hard though. In all his spats and fights with Tord back when they were living together, it never really resulted in more than a little bit of rough sex, some scratches, some bites. Which Tord would actually apologize for if they were bad enough. That was back when they actually had a somewhat functional relationship. He actual spent the night in Tord’s bed a few times. Sleeping next to him.

Now that he thinks about it. There really wasn’t all that much hate between them. It was more like, really, really, rough ribbing. But they spent time together doing other things. Tom actually liked learning about Tord’s guns, he had some amazing historical pieces. And Tord had an immense respect for Tom’s skill at the guitar.  
They used to sit in each others rooms, bumming around, poking at each other and just shooting the shit.

He had forgotten that. He wondered if Tord had.

Tord reaches his personal quarters, swipes his keycard and Tom is pushed in before he shuts the door. He is pulling a knife out of his pocket and with a flick of his wrist Tom has his arms back in use. He turns around, rubbing his wrists looking at Tord warily.

“What are you going to do to me?” Tom questions tentatively.

Tord looks at him, bored expression in place, “I’m not going to do anything. You are in heat. And when you want help with that, you are going to have to earn it. For now though, if you need something, ask, otherwise you are welcome to go to sleep. I’m sure it’s been a long day for you,” Tord says turning away to go shuffle around with some papers on his desk.

Tom blinks his eyes in disbelief as Tord sits down, turns on his computer and starts typing out an email or some shit.

“Are you fucking with me? You kidnapped me to warm your bed while you work?”

“You weren’t kidnapped, you were formally arrested, and if you don’t want to sleep I can get you a book, but either way I need you to shut up so I can work,” Tord says, turning around and fixing Tom with a glare. Tom would poke and prod at him some more, but honestly? Sleep does sound pretty good right now. 

A part of him is probably hungry too. But it can be put off so that he can sleep. 

He sleeps well. Until he doesn’t. He wakes up and it occurs to him that he hasn’t known what time it was for the past week. It’s just been alternating cycles of dark and light.

He remembers when time used to hold more weight. He also remembers a time when his crotch didn’t feel like agony as he fees a rush of cramps. Tom opens his eyes to see that Tord is sleeping next to him. Over his dead body is he going to wake him up for help.

Tom starts to slip a finger down his pants. Situation repot: Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. Seriously. His pants are off in an instant as Tom starts to finger himself. He pushes up to the knuckle and quickly wiggles in a second finger. After a while he gets fed up. It isn’t helping. Maybe Tord has some toys or something in here.  
Tom looks behind him. Yep. Still sleeping. Cautiously he gets out of bed. He sees Tord’s closet and remembers that was where he used to keep all his hentai and shit back when they lived together.

Tom opens it and sees the same dingy cardboard box full of hentai mags, and oh. There’s the same box he kept all his kinky shit in back when they used to do shit. Tom opens it up and there we are. He takes out a vibrator and it isn’t better by much, but it is better. 

He just kind of hunkers down on the floor, trying to stroke himself off as he moves the toy in and out of himself. It’s not getting him anywhere. None of this is deep enough or hard enough, there’s no one touching him. It’s just kind of lifeless.

That is until Tom finds the toy getting pushed in very deep and hands coming up on his chest to pinch at his nipples harshly. Tom squeezes his eyes shut and whoops that’s Tord’s name on his breath.

“Nice to see you missed me,” Tord said and he hates the chuckle to his tone.

“Didn’t. Miss. Shit,” Tom wheezes out. He is trying, trying to string together coherent sentences, but that is quickly becoming an ability of a bygone era.

“Oh, alright, so I’ll just go back to bed,” Tord says and those warm hands are disappearing and every nerve in Tom’s body is screaming for him to do whatever it takes to get Tord back to paying him attention again.

“Wait,” Tom mouth and vocal cords are solo operators.

Tord turns, and that smug rancid little would normal inspire murderous thoughts in Tom, but instead it just inspires his will to grovel at Tord’s feet. Tord looks at him and Tom just states petulantly at the floor.

Tord slowly walks over and he is bending down, placing a hand on his face. Tom tries to kick down the urge to nuzzle into the touch. Tord is so near and he smells so damn good….

“-ed to deal out you punishment first though,” Tom only catches the tail end of what Tord is saying.

“Punish?” he slurs.

“I don’t forget that easily, come on now Tom, you know I can hold a grudge. Plus if there is one thing being a leader,” Tord moves his hand down to stroke the inside of Tom’s thigh and man that shouldn’t be as distracting as it is, “I have learned, it’s that a steady hand pays off in the long run.”

With that Tord has stopped touching him and he is picking up the box Tom drug out and rifling through it. He finds what he is looking for and returns. Tom’s eyes struggle to focus on what is in his hand.

Ah.

A whip. Tord never really brought out those kind of things in the past. At worst he would tie Tom up a little and maybe rough him up a bit with just his hands and some biting. 

“So Tom, I’m going to ask you, how many hits do you think you’ve earned today.”

“None,” Tom mumbles. The mind games. Always Tord with the mind games. He just wants a fuck, a meal, and another nap. All these long cold nights lately have given him the kind of aches that just make his heat worse to deal with.

“Alright, we are starting at ten then. Now Tom, really, I am warning you, you are writing a check you are going to be loathe to cash. How many hits do you deserve?”

“Five,” He says, just to name a number. If it gets Tord to do what he wants, he’ll say anything under the sun.

“Fine, twenty. We’ll see where we go from there. I want you to apologize after each hit, and we stop when it sounds sincere. If you need an out, you know the word.”  
With that a hit lands on Tom’s rump and he is jolting off the floor in surprise and agitation. Tom doesn’t really know what to say or do until another, harder hit lands and like that a little “sorry” pops out his mouth, breezy, light, noncommittal.

They get a little more sincere and a little more tearful pretty quick. Because Tord seems to have warmed up and the real hits are coming in. Each one leaves a heavy sting and Tord occasionally adds a raw slap after some of them.

They are focused primarily on his back and ass, occasionally on his thighs. When one lands a little too close to Tom’s groin he jolts and the sorry that makes it out his mouth really is frantic and sincere. Tord pauses. That was fifteen.

“Close, let’s try a little harder though,” And the next four hits land in the same spot, each getting harder and Tom is getting more frantic with his apologies. The twentieth hit lands in the same spot on the opposite side of Tom’s ass, harder than all the other hits on the previous side.

That’s twenty. Tom is ready to sigh in relief when he gets another hit. He looks at Tord startled.

“I told you, we finish when you sound sincere,” Tord says landing another hit, and okay, if they hurt before, they are getting to a level that is unbearable now. “So I suggest you continue apologizing.”

By the time they get to thirty, Tom is not fairing well. He tries to drag himself away only to be hauled back by Tord and given a quick series of hard hits that have him think twice about doing that sort of thing again. Instead he pulls himself up, moves himself closer to Tord and leans his head into his lap. 

When he looks up Tord’s face is blurry and he is trying to keep focus. He looks up at Tord and utters that one line again, his voice breaking towards the end, and then closes his eyes to prepare for another hit.

Tom feels warm hands coming up to rub him. 

“Are you ready to behave?” Tord asks lowly his hands moving to rub Tom’s smarting ass.

Tom nods vigorously.

“You sure, you seem to be enjoying this?” Tord says as he runs a finger through the slick leaking out of Tom.

“Fff- no more,” Tom whines. He is about ready to just pancake on the floor and let Tord do as he pleases, as long as he gets what he wants and Tord stops torturing him with his smell and his touches in all the wrong places.

“Roll over and spread yourself for me,” Tord commands and like that Tom is doing as he says. Tord has a nice view of an eagerly awaiting hole. “What do you want me to do to you?”

Tom’s head has the word “fuck” running on repeat in his head. So it’s no surprise when that is the solitary word out his mouth.

“Do you want me to claim you? To give you my knot?” Tord ask and he gets a dopey nod. He lounges back a little, pulling out his cock from his shorts. “Wet me down then, help me make it easy on you.”

Tom is crawling into his lap and without much hesitation he is sucking on Tord. Leading an army is a chore, a massive stress. It’s probably turning his hair grey prematurely. So having Tom sucking his dick like he used to, using his tongue in all the right spots, occasionally gagging as he gets a little too eager….

Yeah. Tord could get used to this.

Tord pushes Tom off a little and pats his lap. Tom is up and in it, pressed against him, panting in his ear. 

“Alright, this is going to hurt quite a bit, just stay still, alright?” Tord says, as he turns Tom’s head a little and gets it at just the right angle. Tom stays obediently still and Tord bites down. He squirms a little, trying to pull back, little grunts of pain and displeasure falling out his mouth, but Tord holds him steady, using his other hand to stroke him, to distract from the pain. He works his teeth in a bit harder before letting off. 

He licks at the blood a bit and then lets Tom slump back and down onto the floor. He takes a moment to enjoy the side of Tom, hard, panting, with his mark on him, and Tord decides enough is enough, he’s ready to give Tom what he wants.

“You’ve been a good boy, very good. I’m going to show you what happens when you behave,” Tord coos, and he is pushing in slowly. Tom just likes back, eyes closing slowly in pleasure. He plays the part of limp noodle as Tord fucks into him, but Tord can’t really find it in him to complain too much. After all, the noise he manages to pull out of Tom are delightful.

Little gasps of his name and desperate little pleas. He doubts Tom even knows what he is saying. But as soon as his knot beings to swell, Tom’s mind shifts to one thing.

“Push it in, put your knot in, need it. Please,” Tom begs.

Tord waits a little, letting himself swell before he starts to force it in. He holds Tom’s arms and watches as Tom cries out as he gets past the peak. After another couple thrusts he is in and laying down, chest to chest with Tom, kissing and biting at his neck, avoiding the fresh claim mark, but otherwise just indulging in having Tom lying pliant beneath him.

By the time Tord is cumming, Tom is gone again. Fallen back asleep with Tord still in him. Tord thinks he probably orgasmed at least one or two times and he just didn’t notice it. Either way, he’s probably a little too pleased by the sated face under him. Tord pulls out and picks Tom up taking him to his bed.

___________

Tord wakes up because he cannot breath. There is something in his face and he is choking on it, and his arm blindly makes contact with someone, knocking them off. Tord sits up to see a very livid looking Tom rubbing at the side his arm. 

“You fucking bastard,” he snarls, and Tord is missing last night Tom like nothing else. Honestly, what a way to wake up.

“Assassination attempt, you just keep racking up the war crimes huh?”

“My neck feels like you tried to saw it off with a butter knife, did anyone teach you how to claim properly,” Tom snarls, closing his eyes as he scratches at his mark.

“I’m going to get you a cone if you keep doing that,” Tord says, grabbing Tom’s wrist and pushing his head back to get a good look at the bite. Maybe Tom has a point. It looks inflamed. “Don’t touch that anymore,” Tord warns as he gets up to go to the bathroom and returns with a first aid kit. 

Tom finds his head pushed back once again as he gets a cotton ball full of isopropyl pushed against his neck. He hisses at the pain.

“Sorry, sorry, just give me a moment,” Tord says and then the burn is lessening as he gets a cream smeared across it. Then Tord is pressing a bit of cotton down and firmly putting a patch band aid over it.

“If I find out you took this off, I’ll ziptie you until it heals,” Tord threatens. Tom looks at him eyes narrowed.

“How about you let me bite your neck and you can see how well you deal with it, my great an honorable alpha?”

Tord smirks, “I’m glad you are accepting of my new title.” Tom’s expression darkens and Tord merely pulls him in for a kiss. Tom is tempted to bite him, but his arm is awfully sore from Tord’s hit and he doesn’t like his chances of making it to breakfast alive if he pulls any more shit.

“Alright, get up, we are going to get you dressed and ready for your first day on job as my assistant.”

“Wh- I can’t go out like this,” Tom says, pointing to his neck, which alongside the very obvious healing claim mark, is covered with hickies. 

“You absolutely can and will. Remember what I said about me keeping face? Now is an excellent time to back that,” Tord says, pulling a very reluctant Tom to his feet.  
Tom resolves to try harder tomorrow morning to ensure Tord does not wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blah blah blah owner of this shitpile over @ plsnskanks.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

It was when every light in their base flickered off and the backup generator kicked on a few moments later, that Paul decided he had had it. It was time to call Tord. He knew he was in a meeting, he knew he had loads of paperwork. But neither he nor Patryk could handle the little hell spawn that was Tom in heat.

The omega had been clamoring for Tord’s attention all month in the lead up to his heat, but once it hit Tom was positively everywhere and anywhere all at once. And it was Paul and Patryk’s job to keep the man in line while Tord dealt with the political wreckage that was left in the aftermath of conquering a new territory. There were deposed leaders to dispose of, revolutions to placate, bodies to burn.

You know, business stuff.

Tord was positively overloaded with stress behind his calm demeanor. His rut was scheduled to hit in the middle of all this and he was taking suppressants like candy trying to stave it off until next week when all the meetings and peace talks were scheduled to come to an end.

They had tried to get Tom to do the same, hoping they could get the omega to sync up with his bonded alpha, get a two birds one stone type of deal going. No such luck. Tom’s heat hit early and it hit hard and no amount of suppressants would stop it now. When Paul and Patryk had tried to get him into a heat room to contain him, the little bastard had half shifted, giving Patryk a nasty bite on his arm and crawling into the vents where Paul could only guess what kind of havoc he was wreaking on the electrical wiring.

While in the medbay the lights flicker out and promptly back on. Paul pulls out his phone, ready to dial Tord with shaking fingers. He stops one the third digit when he receives a call from Tord.

Shit.

“Hey boss,” Paul answers, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice. He is only somewhat successful.

“Why,” comes a deep growling voice that sends shudders down Paul’s spine, “did my connection shit out midway through a talk with one of our allies?”

Fuck. Tord is livid. Paul can tell. He was probably midway through his scheduled meeting with a leader of a tentative allegiance who had been quite perturbed when Tord scheduled his attack without notifying him first. It had been done as a stealth precaution, and while the outcome had been favorable, their ally was understandably upset at being left out of the equation.

“We’re lucky as hell he understood it was a connection failure and didn’t take it as a personal slight, otherwise our weapons stockade that they are safeguarding would be as good as gone,” Tord continued.

“We have been having issues with Tom sir,” Paul began nervously.

“What kind of issues?” Tord asked, immediately focusing in on his lover’s name. Paul could sense the rage building through the other end of the telephone. He almost felt bad for Tom. Almost. The fact that Patryk was currently getting a blood transfer was discouraging any genuine pity he had for the black eyed man.

“He bit Patryk and we lost visual on him sir. He shifted and tore through some of the main power wiring. We sent some technicians to find and fix the damage. Tom’s location is still unaccounted for at this moment.”

Tord sighed heavily, “Did you turn on his tracker? And is Patryk alright?”

Paul blinked. 

“Patryk will be okay, it is pretty serious though, might need surgery. Tom has a tracker?”

“I have a lover who, when agitated turns into either a two ton monstrosity or an agile little beast with a taste for expensive and important hardware. Of course I have a tracker for him.”

Paul wanted to ask when. Or how. Or if Tom knew about it. But he knew better.

“Okay, should I dispatch a search team to deal with him?”

“No… I’ll handle this. Clear my meetings for today, send them my condolences. Rest assured Tom will not get away with anything he did today. I’ll have him apologize to Patryk personally tomorrow, maybe even tonight,” Tord said. His voice was even. Calm. Soothing even. To someone who had not known Tord for years on end, it might sound like he was handling the situation well.

Paul knew him and he knew the nuances of his personality like the back of his hand. He also knew Tom was a dead man.

 

Tord was shaking when he ended the call. He didn’t so much hang up as crush the phone in his metal hand. He was due to take his suppressants as soon as his meeting had ended. He would no longer be needing them.

He had a very, very bad boy to find. But first he would get his gear from the lab. He doubted he could handle Tom right now from what little information Paul had given him. He’d probably need some sedatives and a formula he had concocted himself which prevented Tom from shifting. Maybe he would try out a new aphrodisiac he had been experimenting with. It all depended on how Tom behaved. The one most in control of his punishment was Tom himself.

Tord used his biological hand to select the button in the elevator, afraid at this point that he would crush the control panel with his robotic arm. He needed to calm down. He wanted to teach Tom a lesson, not maim him. Especially if he was going to take away Tom’s only defense mechanism besides pissing himself. Tord would have one of the labrats calibrate his arm so that he couldn’t apply lethal force. He could handle that.

When Tord entered the spotless room after passing through a decontamination lock, everyone straightened and saluted. He looked out across a sea of white coats and attentive faces.

“We have a problem comrades. At 16:00 today, specimen 617 went rogue. No cause for alarm, I will personally deal with this issue. But first I will need your help. I will need a dart gun stocked with serum 218 along with three backup magazines. I need experimental compound D88 and a needle full of compound 117. I will also need someone to lower the maximum force output of my arm to around twenty percent of its regular output,” Tord finished. As soon as he stopped talking the lab was a bustle of bodies moving to and fro. Tord found himself being ushered into a seat while a tool kit specifically made for his arm was pulled out and the adjustments started.

A small bag was assembled containing neatly labeled vials and magazines full of what Tord had requested. A small silver dart gun was placed in the package and it was handed to Tord after his arm was recalibrated.

Tord was grinning ear to ear as he felt the cool weight of the metal gun in his hand. Boy had it been a while since he had been out in the field. He had gotten so wrapped up in politics, taken so far from his roots. He could feel something primal stirring in him. Something deep in his bones that had always been there. He was an alpha, and he was going to go claim his mate and show him exactly what was what when it came to authority.

“Last thing I need is the global tracker for specimen 617,” Tord said. He held out his hand and moments later a small, cellphone looking device was placed in it.

“Excellent,” Tord said. He turned on the tracker and it lit up, displaying Tom location. 

“Alright, evacuate and lock down sector 7. Not a soul in there, otherwise they are at risk. They have ten minutes. Relay the message through all personal devices and repeat it over coms until you are sure the area is secure.”

Tord was met with a chorus of “Sir yes sir” then a hum of activity as people began sending out the message. With a final thank you and a salute, the Red Leader spun on his heel and walked swiftly out of the lab.

Tord’s mind buzzed at a mile a minute as he approached sector 7. He encountered several underlings hurrying the opposite direction, some with arms full of papers and important files. Regardless, each one stopped to salute him before continuing on.

He was met at the entrance of the sector by two armed guards. They saluted him and one entered the security code for access. Tord marched in and then the doors shut firmly behind him.

Inside the sector everything was a mess. Sparking wires hung down from an open vent, chairs were toppled over in disarray. Tord looked at his tracker and noted Tom’s position farther down the hall. He pulled out the package and loaded a sedative into the dart gun. He began to walk down the hall.

“Thomas, come out, come out wherever you are! I swear this will only be harder the longer you make me look,” Tord called, voice candy sweet.

He glanced at the screen to see the dot shift slightly. It moved a couple feet closer to him. From the looks of it, Tom was probably in the hallway connecting the cafeteria to the living spaces. He should be visible just around the next corner. Tord approached the corner. His hands were steady now, he could hear his even breathing and any other minute sound in the hallway. He heard the sound of claws dragging against linoleum floor. Tord rounded the corner to see a half shifted Tom about thirty feet down the hallway. He was indeed half shifted. His arms and legs were dark purple, almost black, and small nubs protruded from his forehead. He was naked, fully exposed and even from far away Tord could smell his heat and see his glistening opening.

The thought of others having seen him like this rankled Tord quite a bit.

“Thomas, come here,” Tord said, pointing at the floor in front of him.

Tom knew that voice. That was Tord’s “Get over here NOW” voice that broached no arguments. Every second Tom hesitated to obey he was accruing a compound interest that his ass would pay for later. Every moment was a nail in his coffin. So he did what his heat-addled mind told him made the most sense. He gave Tord a nasty hiss and took off down the hallway at a breakneck pace.

“You little bitch,” Tord snarled out, firing a shot after him. It hit. Of course it hit. Tord may have been out of the game as far as actual combat missions, but he would be damned if he let himself go soft. He was on the range as often as his soldiers were, it wasn’t uncommon for soldiers firing their first rounds to get tips from the Red Leader himself, guarded by an entire squadron, of course.

It would be a few minutes before the sedative fully kicked in so Tord ran after Tom, boots hitting the ground in a quick steady rhythm. He watched carefully as the distant figure in front of him grew gradually grew more sluggish. He put the gun back in its package as he lost sight of Tom around a corner. He was in the living spaces now and if he knew Tom, he was probably heading back to his own room to lick his wounds in a nest he had built before his heat.

The little dot on the tracker proved him right. He saw Tom drag himself into his room and a smirk returned to his face as he kicked the ajar door fully open. A weak hiss was his greeting, seeming to come from a pile of blankets and clothes. Tord pulled the needle of serum 117 out of his pouch, flicking the tip and pressing down to squeeze out any air bubbles. As he approached Tom merely growled louder and louder.

“You’re making this worse for yourself, and let me tell you, you have a sizeable amount to make up for already,” Tord growled. Quick as lightning, he reached into the pile with his metal hand. When he felt a sharp tug and heard a sound not unlike a soda can being stomped on, he grasped something firmly in his grip and yanked. A snarling Tom was pulled out of the sheets. He had him gripped by the neck and Tom was attempting to land another bite. Tord gripped him tightly. Tom let out a squeal of protest as he tried to squirm from the grip. Tord could feel something in his groin waken as Tom struggled against his grip.

“I am not your chew toy,” Tord snapped. He plunged the needle into Tom’s neck with his organic hand pressing the stopper down. Tom writhed in his grip as slowly his darkened arms and legs turned back to his normal skin tone and his tail, horns and fangs retracted.

What he was left with was a quaking, very human Tom, who was currently giving him the biggest doe eyes he was capable of.

“You. Are. In. So. Much. Trouble,” Tord said softly, as he stroked Tom’s cheek with his metal hand.

“W-wait Tord I can explain!” Tom stammered, nervous at Tord’s formidable composure. He knew he had fucked up big time, but he also knew if he groveled a bit early on, it would pay off for him later.

“I’m listening,” Tord said, still stroking Tom, moving his hand lower to rub at Tom’s scent glands. The omega let out a shudder, suddenly very much reminded that he was in heat. 

“I- you were always in meetings and my heat started and you weren’t available, I didn’t know-“ Tom rambled.

“You bit Patryk. A man I owe my life to many,” the hand on his neck tightened,” many times over.”

Tom struggled to pull in air. Shit. Shit. Had he bitten Patryk? He honestly didn’t remember. He’s lucky Paul didn’t kill him on the spot if he did.

“And as I understand it, they were in the process of escorting you to a heat room, where I would have attended to you later. If you had been a good boy. But you weren’t. So now we get to play a game.”

Tom didn’t like games. Not ones where Tord decided the rules.

“A game?”

Tord grinned widely, fangs on display. “Yeah, it’s called the punishment game. It’s two player and unfortunately for you, it can go on for hours. Who knows? Maybe longer.”

“First things first, let me get a good look at you, turn over, spread your legs and don’t make a sound,” Tord said. Tom did as he asked. Fighting Tord now was a moot point. There was no out without his monster abilities and he was even worse off with the sedative in his system. 

Surprisingly gentle hands probed him, feeling for bumps, bruises and burns. Tord wanted to make sure Tom hadn’t injured himself while on his rampage, messing with all that electrical equipment and running in front of assuredly armed and alarmed guards. Satisfied he pulled out compound D88. He had made it while puttering around in the lab in his limited spare time. It had ran some field tests and was safe enough to use, though as Tom would soon find out, it had some pretty interesting and unpleasant side effects, especially for those in heat. Tom looked over his shoulder and his eyes zeroed in on the needle.

“What’s that?” he asked, a trickle of sweat running down his face.

“Let’s find out,” Tord said, plunging the fresh needle into the tube that held D88 and pulling it back out again. He decided he would start with a half dose and give Tom more if he deserved it later. He poked the needle in Tom’s right buttocks before pulling it out again.

Tord pulled Tom up to cuddle him in his arms, stroking the omega’s back soothingly. He pressed Tom’s body against his, forcing him to draw in his scent. Tom perked up as he caught something in Tord’s scent.

“You’re in rut?” Oooh. Oh no. Normally Tom would be beyond thrilled to be synced up with Tord. Usually such an occasion was a lot of fun. Tom, however, knew Tord would find a way to turn this into a punishment.

Tord grinned at him. “It seems so. Unfortunately, bad boys don’t get knots, so the fact that I’m in rut and you’re in heat is irrelevant to what we are going to do until you make up for what you’ve done.”

Tord reached his hand down lower to massage at Tom’s cunt which was starting to prickle with a strange sort of heat. It felt like it normally did during heat, but more intense, more sensitive almost like-

“Oh my god you gave me an aphrodisiac while I was in heat. You absolute bastard,” Tom cried, smacking Tord on the shoulder in agitation. He tried to frot his aching pussy against Tord to alleviate the sensation.

He felt Tord’s cold metal hand grip him firmly by the hips. “Stop that, if you need to relieve yourself right this moment, get out the horse.”

Tom’s eyes widened as a rush of memories flooded back to him.

“No, no, no Tord please, not the horse. I will be so good, just give me anything else,” he begged. He began to paw at Tord’s zipper hoping he could please the man, do anything to avoid what he sensed was coming.

“Actually, now that I think on it the horse sounds perfect for this situation,” Tord said. He grabbed Tom and carried the squirming man out of the room and down the hall into his personal living sector. Tom began rutting on him as soon as Tord put him in close proximity. Once in his room Tord relocked the door with his keycard, slipping it back into his pocket. He set Tom down on his bed and went into his closet to pull out the dreaded horse. It was an inverted v shaped structure, essentially a saw horse with two rather large vibrators protruding out of it. Tord lifted Tom up who started to protest in earnest, squirming frantically in his grip as he was brought over to the horse. Tord held Tom with his metal arm while he positioned the vibrators under him taking a moment to slick both of them down with the copious amount of fluid leaking out of Tom. 

Then he set Tom on them and let gravity to the rest. Choked whines filled the room as the omega struggled to take in the girth of either dildo. They weren’t as big as Tord while he knotted, but they were still sizable enough to give him quite the stretch. Tord pressed down on Tom’s hips making sure the omega was fully seated on the horse. He left Tom to try and seat himself comfortably and came back with a pair of hand cuffs and a cock ring. He put the cuffs on Tom, securing his hands behind his back and put the ring on his cock, ignoring the needy whines of protest.

At this point the heat in Tom’s groin was unbearable and he started trying to raise himself off the vibrators so he could get some sort of pleasure. It was no use. His legs couldn’t touch the ground, he had zero leverage. Tom was merely forced to remain motionless and wait while Tord rifled through his closet looking for something else. He came back with an item that made Tom’s mouth dry. The whip. Shit. He had first gotten the whip the night they had reunited after Tom blew up Tord’s robot. It was a special thing for when Tord was a transcendental level of pissed off.

Fuck. Tom would never touch a hair on Patryk’s head again after this, that was for sure.

“How many do you think you’ve earned today Thomas?” Tord said as he ran the whip gently along Tom’s skin. Tom winced. He knew Tord would probably double whatever he said, and just outright go for forty if he said something really low.

“F-fifteen?” Tom asked.

“Mmm, how about twenty, just for starters. You know the drill, a hit not counted is a hit that didn’t happen,” Tord said. Okay. Not so bad. Could have been worse. Could have been way worse. Tom relaxes a bit.

Until he sees Tord switch the whip into his metal hand. FUCK. He would have said ten and probably gotten fifteen if he had known that Tord was going to be swinging with that hand. Tord rarely brought out the whip, and even more rarely used his metal hand to swing it. Every occasion in which he had, had been excruciatingly memorable.

The first hit lands on Tom’s ass and Tom yells out “ONE.” Fuck does that hurt.

He’s crying by hit three. On hit eight he forgets to count and Tord gets another hit in before he is able to moan out an eight. Tord doesn’t seem to hear number ten when it’s whimpered out so that’s an extra one too. The hits are landing all over the place too. One catches his nipple, another is so low it is almost on his cunt. One is exactly aimed at his cunt. Tom nearly blacks out from that one. At fifteen Tord grips him roughly by the chin with his metal hand. He is looking at Tom with something indescribable in his eyes, the scarred side of his face looking almost demonic when combined with his rage.

“Are you going to EVER pull something like this again?” Tord barks.

Tom whimpers out a soft “No” through his tears.

“I can’t hear you!” he shouts.

“NO SIR,” Tom shouts back. Soft fingers gently wipe away his tears and there’s a soft voice in his ear. 

“Five more elskede, then we’ll see about the rest,” Tord says, rubbing a hand along Tom’s smarting back. God it hurts. And he’s still hard, because of course he is. You don’t last long as the Red Leader’s bitch if you need constant praise and coddling. Pain is a form of love. Tough love. And it’s Tord’s favorite to dole out. And Tom’s favorite to receive.

“O-okay,” Tom moans, more tears trailing down his face, bracing himself for the next couple hits.

The sixteenth hit has him pissing himself, Tom does so with a long whine and an apology to Tord for dirtying his floor. Tord decides he doesn’t want to add more strikes for that. He knows twenty is pushing it already. Twenty two if he is being accurate. The last four he does with his organic hand and Tom is fucking grateful for this kindness. They barely sting in comparison to the others and they’re all on his back or legs, none on his sensitive areas.

When Tord is done he sets the whip aside and turns on one of the vibrators. Tom is so distracted by the sensation in his ass he doesn’t notice Tord making a phone call. A few minutes Tord has turned on the other vibrator and Tom is once again on the verge of tears, frustrated and in need of attention while Tord lays on the bedspread watching him. After a bit Tord shuts both vibrators off, knowing that eventually Tom will come vaginally if he just lets him sit on the vibrators. He uncuffs Tom and forces the panting, sweat slicked omega into his generic uniform, even making him wear the vest. Whip marks are still visible on his arms and on the bit of his collar bone visible before his vest covers the rest of it. His erection is still clearly visible in his pants. 

“Come on,” Tord says motioning for Tom to stand. Tom obeys, albeit on shaky legs, following Tord in a daze throughout the winding corridors. He has no clue where they’re going until they arrive at Paul and Patryk’s private quarters in the commanding officers living sector. 

Paul answers the door and his eyes narrow in fury as he sees Tom. However, after taking him in for a minute, noting Tord’s iron grip on his shoulder and the vicious whip marks on his skin, his expression softens a bit.

“Tom is here to apologize. Aren’t you Tom?” Tord says, grip tightening on Tom’s shoulder.

“Yes sir. I would like to speak to co-commander in chief Patryk, sir,” Tom states mechanically. He’s about two seconds from bursting into tears again if anyone so much as reprimands him. Tord notes his use of formal titles and while he didn’t instruct Tom to use them, he is immensely pleased that he did. 

“Alright,” Paul said, moving aside to let them in. Patryk is on the couch, relaxing and watching some TV, bandaged arm resting on the side of the couch. 

“Patryk, Tom is here to apologize,” Paul says. Patryk looks up in surprise to see Tom standing in full attire. He notes his disheveled appearance behind the clean pressed clothes and his ramrod posture.

“Hello Tom, it’s quite alright. No serious damage done. It was more of a nibble than anything else,” Patryk said.

“He hit muscle, Patryk.”

“He has a bite force that can snap clean through bone, Paul,” Patryk shot back.

“Um… sorry to interrupt,” Tom begins timidly, glancing back at Tord nervously. Tord merely nods once in encouragement. Tom swallows as he feels three sets of eyes on him.

“I still have to apologize. I realize you were trying to help me and I was out of line. I could have hurt you worse than I did and I am lucky either of you didn’t call in back up to handle it,” Tom said looking down at his feet as he shuffled them. “My biology is my duty to maintain and get assistance for, no one else’s.”

Fresh tears dribbled down Tom’s cheeks as a throbbing wave of heat struck him. Tom bent over double in a mix of agony and pleasure. His crotch immediately dampened with a wash of slick. Both Paul and Patryk’s eyebrows shot up.

“Tord have you not dealt with his heat yet?” Patryk asked in alarm.

“No, he didn’t deserve it. He needed to be punished and he needed to apologize before he could receive any sort of reward,” Tord said stoically. 

“Taking care of his biological needs isn’t a reward. This shit is exactly what led to him being out of control in the first place. Go take care of him now!” Patryk exclaimed. Paul reached over to settle his partner, worried he would tear his stitches with how worked up he was getting.

Tord looked at Patryk stunned, “But-.”

“Fucking NOW Tord! GO!” Patryk shouted.

Tord tries to pull Tom out of the room, scooping the omega into his arms when he stumbles and falls to his knees before they can make it out of the room. At that sight Patryk looks positively furious and seeing his face Tord bolts carrying Tom. Tom is a mess of whimpers and frantic pleas and Tord is thanking the heavens he only gave him half a dose of D88. Once back in his quarters, he lays the omega on his bed and strips himself and Tom in under two minutes. The ring goes off as well. There is just… a massive deluge of slick in Tom’s pants. He even has a minor rash forming because of it. In one of his more sane moments, Tord feels a rush of guilt. 

 

Any alpha would tell him he’s done a shit job of handling his omega, and that isn’t just from today’s events alone. Tord is all tender touches and soft kisses and words. He thrusts in gently and goes at a slow pace until Tom’s hand is a claw in his hair yanking him down so that he is literally breathing Tom’s exhalations and Tom spits in his face:

“You do not get to drag me to hell and back pumped full of some unstable aphrodisiac, have me apologize in heat, whipped to shit and smelling like your entire commanding corps has had at me, in front of your two commanding officers in chief, and then go fucking easy on me when I have no such fucking desire for your bullshit.”

Tord has no doubt, Tom would be fully shifted if he didn’t have serum 117 coursing through his veins. He is the picture of rage beneath him, with Tord fully sheathed in him. Every muscle taut with contained energy, face contorted into a mask of fury. 

Tord has never been more in love.

He slams into Tom at a brutal pace and the anger just melts off Tom’s face, replaced with a mix of intense pain and pleasure. Tord loses himself, flipping Tom over so he can get him in a position where he can rut at him with reckless abandon. Tord sinks his teeth into his old bonding scar he had given Tom the first night they reconnected. Tom cums immediately sobbing dryly as his cum hits the bedspread. He is allowed exactly zero refractory time as Tord fucks him through his orgasm.

Tom whines and tries to beg Tord to slow down but the alpha will have none of it. 

“You are out of your mind if you think you are cumming only once tonight. And don’t tell me you “can’t handle it”. You have before and that was without all the shit currently in you,” Tord snarls as he returns to biting at Tom’s neck. Tom is seizing and unseizing around Tord, his pussy trying to come to terms with all the stimulation it’s receiving. Then Tord’s knot starts to swell.

And it just doesn’t stop.

Tom can’t remember if it’s ever been this big before and it’s a whole other affair when Tord starts to force his knot inside. Tom begs and pleads. Whines and grovels. For what he doesn’t even know. Mercy? Tord doesn’t do mercy. Tom doesn’t want mercy.

He comes a second time as Tord finally pushes his whole knot in with a series of forceful thrusts that have the headboard of the bed hitting the wall over and over again like someone is knocking on the door. Tord grabs his dick and milks him through his second orgasm until Tom is wailing for him to stop. He lets go, instead focusing attention on Tom’s nipples. He forces Tom down into the bedspread while he rests his full bodyweight on the omega, knot still swelling inside him. He continues to play with Tom’s nipples until he starts to lactate.

When the smell hits Tord’s nose it sends him into a whole other frenzy and Tom finds the knot in him shifting and rubbing all sorts of deep and sensitive places and he cums dry for his third and last time as Tord cums almost simultaneously, hot jizz flooding his insides and easing some of the ache that he is feeling in every single minute particle of his body.

And he is just done. That is it. It’s like Tord hit the power button on Tom. He’s out. Down for the count.

When he comes to, its eighteen hours later and he is in the medbay with Patryk of all people sitting in the chair next to him, bandaged arm resting in his lap as he reads a book. Tom has bandages all over his body, ointment on his welts from Tord’s whipping, and what feels like a copious amount of gauze on his neck. He also has a catheter strapped to him and bandages over his nether region.

“What the fuck?”

“Mmm yes indeed. You’re both banned from handling your heats,” Patryk says flatly, giving Tom an appraising look.

“W-what?”

“You are on some seriously high pain meds right now. I could describe what the state of your, ahem, “special space” is with explicit medical terms, but I doubt you want to hear it. Point is, you and Tord aren’t doing anything that doesn’t leave room for Jesus for the next month, and you can bet your sorry soul Paul and I are going to enforce that.”

Tom looked at his nether regions again and then at Patryk.

“I’m sor-,” he begins again before Patryk clamps his injured hand over his mouth.

“Tom, I know how to break a man’s arm in thirty seven different ways and can execute all of them in under a minute. Finish that sentence and we draw a number to pick which one I use. We are done with that topic. Water under the bridge. 117 is being adapted into a patch which you will be responsible for wearing in mandated safety zones. Regulated shifts will be permitted in designated areas and handled by trained personnel.”

“Okay,” Tom said meekly.

“Good boy,” Patryk said, face brightening. He gave Tom a pat on the cheek. “Now you need to eat some, we’ve had an IV in you, and I’m sure you could use some real food.”

Patryk pulled out a bag from somewhere behind him and from that he pulled out a thermos of soup, some bread and what appeared to be a pudding cup. Tom’s mouth watered at the sight of the food. His stomach grumbled in agreement.

“I know right? Medbay food sucks,” Patryk whispered conspiratorially. Tom smiled. He was beginning to see why Tord liked this guy so much. If he wasn’t already clearly taken, he might have been worried.

Suddenly a commotion was heard as someone pounded on the door.

“Sir we’ve been authorized to not permit you to see him!” came the shrill voice of the head nurse.

“Authorized by fucking who?! I am the Red Leader. There is literally no one above me on the pecking order,” Tom heard Tord shout.

“That is unfortunately not the case when you are declared medically unfit by a professional. In that case Commanders Paul and Patryk rank above you. Now I suggest you calm down before I sedate you again,” came the ice cold voice.

Goddamn, if anyone in this base had balls of steel it was that head nurse.

“Patty! It’s alright, you can let him in,” Patryk called.

Tom heard the sound of the door unlocking and Tord burst in, wearing nothing but a dressing gown. Notably one of the sleeves was empty. Holy shit. They had taken away Tord’s arm.

“Just until both of you are on the mend,” Patryk said in response to Tom’s awestruck stare.

Tord rushed to Tom throwing his one arm around him in a hug that was still surprisingly crushing. Tom let out a wheeze and Patryk looked about to intervene when Paul rounded the corner, rolled up newspaper in his hand, unlit cigarette in mouth. He swatted Tord viciously on the back of his head.

“Knock it off. This whole thing ended up this way because you can’t keep your hands off him,” Paul growled.

“That’s not-,” Tord began.

“’Oh Paul, oh Patryk! I think I fucked up really bad this time, Tom’s not moving’” Paul mimicked in a high pitched voice before dropping to his normal gravelly pitch. “Remember last night? Or rather early this morning? When you came to our door with Tom in your arms, crying like a little-,” Paul was cut off by Tord up leaping to cover his mouth.

“Yes, yes, let’s make fun of the overworked commander in a time of emotional distress,” Tord snapped, looking at Paul through slitted eyes that promised nothing good for the man when he had his position returned to him. Paul looked like he could not care less at whatever Tord’s implications were.

“Anyways,” Tord said, turning to Tom, visage brightening. “How are you feeling my little elskede?” He asked as he approached Tom again. Tom struck out for gold and hit pay dirt when his foot connected with Tord’s groin. Tord doubled over, dry heaving. Neither Patryk not Paul came to his aid, both watching the scene in genuine amusement.

“How’s that feel you stupid fuck?” Tom snarled. “I apparently can’t even go to the bathroom without medical equipment because of you. How do you think I feel you stupid commie shit?”

“Ach you little bitch, next time they’ll have to put you in the iron lung when I finish with you,” Tord said, hands holding his crotch, tears in his eyes, from his position on the floor.

“Alright lovebirds, settle down. I thought we’d have to keep you from fucking for the next month, but I guess we’ll just have to keep you from killing each other,” Paul snorted. “Tord you are on medical leave until Patryk and I reinstate you. You clearly need a break for mental health reasons and to work on meeting Tom’s needs. He’s your pet. Feed him, give him attention, kissies, walkies, all that shit. No fucking though. He’s got a nice mess downstairs thanks to you.”

Tom glared at Tord, who kissed the air in response.

Tom managed to rip a hole in his catheter pouch and dump its contents on Tord as he was still kneeling on the ground in front of him.

Both Paul and Patryk had to bodily restrain Tord from strangling Tom while a nurse came in to sedate him.

“You know, I didn’t ever think Tord could pick someone he actually deserved, but you two are a match made in hell,” Paul commented.

Tom let out a long, wheezing laugh which woke that deep ache in his groin. 

So they were.


	3. Chapter 3

As far as initiating things go, the onus is usually on Tord to start things if he wants something to happen, whether it be dealing with matters in the bed or not.

So color him surprised when he hears a loud knock on his private quarters and opens the door to find Tom. Well, a half-shifted Tom.

He was a panting mess that, quite frankly, alarmed Tord at the very sight. He was heaving like he had just run a marathon, sweat trickling down his face and neck to dampen his strained and torn clothes. It looked like he had been trying to rend them off his body with his clawed hands and had little success. Tord looked down at his crotch to see that it appeared Tom had pissed himself. He didn’t smell anything so he assumed it must be slick.

Jesus.

“Tom?” He honestly didn’t know what else to say or do. Where does he even start? With out even knowing all the facts Tord knows this situation is a disaster and probably not an easily reversible one. He’s never seen Tom in heat half shifted and the thought honestly worries him.

In response to his monosyllable question Tom throws himself into Tord’s arms, snuggling deep into his chest and pulling a long inhale. When he exhales, it’s a long shakey sob that sounds vaguely like his name. If that isn’t a kick to the gut, Tord doesn’t know what is.

Tom is the kind of person that absolutely hates being servile outside the bedroom. He’ll fight, and claw, and kick, and scratch to the last moment if it’s for the sake of his pride, so for him to be groveling in Tord’s arms like this was a massive tell for his emotional state.

“Elskede, please, what is wrong? Come in here and tell me. Sit down,” Tord says as he gently pushes Tom away from his chest and ushers him in to have him sit on his bed. As he sits down next to him he finds Tom has clambered into his lap and is frantically grinding down on him with a surprising amount of force. Probably too much for what is good and healthy. Tord pushes down on Tom’s hips to still him. He is met with a distressed snarl.

“Tom, you are going to hurt yourself doing that. Not to mention you’ve just ruined my pants,” Tord said with an huff.

“I don’t feel good,” Tom whines, tucking his head into Tord’s chest.

“I can see that, what happened? Why do you smell like heat while you’re shifted?”

“Something went bad in the lab with Lenker. Tord my stomach hurts. Please help me,” Tom pleads. His hands are gripping Tord’s front and his whole body is shaking in a manner that is quite distressing. Tord lets out a deep croon that has Tom calming down considerably. He rubs at his lover’s back.

“What happened in the lab?” Tord asks. He can feel a bit of irritation building prematurely. Tord had a deal with a rather off-kilter scientist named Lenker. No one knew quite where Lenker had spawned from, or exactly when or how he had ended up in the Red Army. He had a suspect past, with little documentation and a revoked medical license, but when it had come to dealing with Tord’s burns, grafting skin, and regrowing an eye, Lenker had a terrifyingly adept gift. He was a seamstress of flesh and bone, a biological bibliophile and Tom was absolutely his favorite thing to examine and experiment on. Tord had a running deal with Lenker that any biological discoveries and experiments were to be forwarded to him for discussion and approval respectively. 117’s patch adaptation? Spearheaded by   
Lenker. The test trial of D-88 that had been used on Tom? An unholy product of Tord and Lenker’s experimentation.

Tord liked Lenker, but if he had broken their pact on not experimenting on Tom, especially on his sex organs, without his approval….

Well the trainees would have a good moving target on the range tomorrow, wouldn’t they?

“I have a phone call to make,” Tord said, trying to pry Tom off his lap.

“No, help me. Tord please,” Tom cried, gripping onto his alpha tighter. After trying for several minutes to wrest Tom off of him, and receiving several nicks and scratches from Tom’s sharp nails, Tord was at his wits end.

“Tom, get off me,” he commanded with his alpha voice. Sullenly, Tom listened, slowly getting off of him to kneel on the bed with his hands once again pressed to his crotch.

Tord ran his hand under Tom’s chin, scratching just under the side. Tom shuddered as he ghosted his bonding scar.

“I promise, I will be right back and we will take care of you. I just need to know what occurred in the lab,” Tord said softly, still scratching Tom’s chin. Tom let out a soft purr of contentment. Satisfied that his mate was suitably pacified, Tord left to go into his office. He dialed the lab line.

“Good afternoon Red Leader what can I do for you?” Came the smooth voice of the lab attendant.

“I’d like to speak to Doctor Lenker immediately,” Tord said.

“Right away sir.”

Tord waited on the line for no more than a minute before a deep cool voice was in the other end.

“Tord.” Lenker was never a person for formalities. He had basically scraped Tord off the battlefield and stitched him together again. He had seen more parts of his anatomy than even Tom, and that left him with some weird sort of edge over Tord when it came to respect.

“Lenker.”

“What can I do for you this fine morning?”

“Explain to me why Tom is on my bed midway to his monster form and in heat?”  
“Oh that,” Lenker responded in a bored tone. Like his life continuing wasn’t dependent on how he explained this situation.

“Yes Lenker. That,” Tord said through gritted teeth.

“For the record I didn’t purposely expose him to anything. Tom wouldn’t stay still when I was trying to give him his dose of 117. He knocked off an unstable compound that was based on certain aspects of his biology and that’s why he is in the state he’s in.”

“Exactly what kind of aspects?” Tord asked coolly.

“Well you see, Tom’s nature being hermaphroditic and his monster form being reptilian, I was interested to see whether or not his body had the capacity to produce eggs. What I found through research is that his body does indeed generate the organs needed for this process, even in his half-shifted form. I also discovered it needs some sort of little kickstart, a sort of biological flag of sorts, to get the ball rolling, if you understand what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t, and I’d like you to explain before I run out of patience. I can guarantee one of us stops breathing when that happens,” Tord growls.

“Ah, yes, yes…. In simpler terms, Tom’s body starts to produce ovum when it is exposed to pheromones of an alpha of its same species in rut. Which doesn’t exist. So we made a compound that could artificially stimulate those glands and thus you have your current predicament,” Lenker finished.

“Okay so what exactly can I do about this?”

“Nothing really, unless you want us to cut him open and remove the ovum, but I can’t guarantee that would stop his body from generating more. The best course of action is nothing. Let his body run its course. He is more than capable of passing the eggs. Just keep him somewhere clean, safe, and dry, preferably smelling of you. We estimate three days for them to come factoring in his high regeneration rate.”

“Anything else?”

“Oh and be sure to keep that nice little slit of his occupied with something until he is ready to pass. He is basically experiencing a severe heat and any contact would probably help lessen the symptoms,” Lenker purred.

Tord sighed. There was the freak he had hired.

“Alright Lenker, that will be all,” Tord said as he prepared to hang up.

“One thing.”

“What.”

“Save me an egg? I want to run some tests on it. It won’t be fertilized or anything, neither specimen 617, nor you have the requirements to do that.”

“Why should I reward you for a screw up that happened in your lab, under your supposed supervision.”

“I seem to recall our central power grid going down sometime last month and specimen 617 ending up in the med bay shortly after. If you would like me to reference other incidents to support my claim about our mutual incompetence, let me know. I’d like the egg to be refrigerated upon delivery.”

Then the bastard hangs up on him.

Tord would have him hung if the the little creep wasn’t so entertaining. He returns to his bedroom to find the contents of his closet strewn about the room and Tom naked and currently enjoying himself on a rather large, bumpy dildo. His tail is flicking back and forth in pleasure as he rides the toy at an upbeat pace. When he sees Tord he lets out a happy cry of “alpha!”

Tord smiles as he approaches the bed. Tom pulls the toy out of himself and Tord once again finds himself with a lap full off panting omega. Tord feels lips at his neck and clawed hands at his back.

“Mm, why can’t you always be this happy to see me? Hmm?” Tord teases as he runs his fingers lightly down Tom’s back. Tom merely responds with a very light nip to   
Tord’s neck.

“No teasing.”

“Oh? Are you the one giving commands now?” Tord asks in mock surprise.

“Yeah,” comes the soft answer, as Tom starts to grind down on his crotch.

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that,” Tord rumbles huskily into Tom’s ear. He reaches down to slip a finger into Tom and at the contact Tom moans like a whore. Tord cocks an eyebrow.

He adds another finger and starts to scissor Tom lightly. The omega on top of him can hardly sit still. Clawed hands are running up and down his back, one minute hot breath is in his ear, then next Tom’s face is buried in his shirt as he lets out a particularly loud and embarrassing moan. Tord massages his entrance as he pushes in and out gently, getting him all sorts of happy whines and grunts of pleasure.

Tom is a lot noisier than usual. It takes a while to get him this worked up and here he is falling apart in his arms after a mere few minutes.

And then in about two minutes, before Tord can get to doing anything else, Tom cums on his lap and promptly passes out in his arms.

“Well,” Tord mutters to himself, half ticked off, half amused. He really can’t find it in himself to be angry at his lover in a time like this. But damn if he wasn’t hoping to get a little further. He pulls the limp body out of his lap and tucks Tom under his sheets, ensuring his comfort before he gets up to go do paperwork.

A few hours later Tom is still knocked out when he returns so Tord crawls in next to him, wrapping his arms around his partner’s waist before falling asleep.

He wakes up to Tom riding him.

Skin against skin, the omega drooling over him, riding him hard and fast. He thinks it’s a dream at first and a rather good one at that. Tom is still shifted and his stomach looks to be a bit bigger, like maybe he has eaten a bit to much food.

“Need you to cum. Tord, please,” Tom pants as he continues his rough pace.

Tord swears he has never heard Tom use the word please so much in the course of twenty four hours and it’s doing bad things to his self control. He thrusts up, meeting Tom’s shifts down. It’s early morning and Tord is done in minutes. He cums inside Tom who stills as he does, letting out a fervent noise of appreciation. Tom pulls off and turns around showing Tord the cum leaking out his raw pussy, spreading it a little with his fingers.

“Just for you alpha,” he purrs.

And that’s how Tom finds himself being held down with Tord’s metal hand while Tord’s organic arm is wrist deep in him, thrusting his whole hand in and out until Tom is wailing like a little banshee. His noises turn high pitched and confused at the end as a sudden orgasm washes over Tom.

God. Tord cannot handle him being this docile. It’s such an unexpected change, and to be honest it would be unwelcome from almost anyone else, Tord liking his partners to be a bit feisty. But not Tom. Oh no. Not when the man barely gives him hugs or kisses unless he has done something bad and is trying to escape punishment. Not when he rarely initiates sexual contact of any kind despite making it quite clear he very much enjoys it.

Tord has two more days of this, and you can bet he his going to indulge in his lover’s irregular affection. He finds soft kisses being pressed into his neck as Tom cuddles up next to him.

He’s late to his meeting because of those kisses. He only gets out of bed because Paul and Patryk personally come to drag him to it. He promises Tom he will return as soon as possible and instructs someone to check in on him hourly. Tord chews a pen all through the meeting absorbing next to none of the important information about his next mission. All he wants is his little terror back in his arms and under him.

The meeting ends and before Tord can rush off back to his room, he is dragged to a conference. Then it’s a video call. Then he meets an ambassador from a rogue territory who is on the fence about giving in to their cause. It’s mid afternoon when Tord’s phone starts buzzing. He is almost free of his meetings when the first picture arrives. He opens up the text from Tom and nearly drops his phone as he is immediately given a full view of what he was just in this morning.

It is accompanied by a half baked request to have him come back to his room. Tord replies with an apology and promises to return as soon as possible. The onslaught of pictures begins and continues throughout the meeting. By the end of it Tord has shut his phone off and before either of his second in commands can get a hold of him, Tord has set off at a dead run towards his room.

When he gets there, Tom is midway through another picture. He perks up at Tord as he enters, sending him a smug smirk as he notes the tent in Tord’s pants.

“I was waiting for you,” he says in an innocent tone, as if that was all he had been doing. Tom’s stomach is quite a bit larger now, jutting out a good five or so inches. Tord’s eyes lock onto it and if that isn’t a turn on, he doesn’t know what is.

Tom and him have had quite a long back and forth about the prospect of children, Tom absolutely refuses to be bred until Tord steps down from his position as Red Leader, and at such a fragile time in his movement’s development, Tord will do no such thing, though he badly, badly wants Tom to have his kids.

This is about as close as he can get for now. Tord runs his hand across Tom’s firm belly rubbing it gently. Tom lets out a soft mewl of pleasure.

“That feel good?” Tord asks. Tom nods.

“I’ve been getting sore, make it better alpha,” Tom pleads.

“Oh? You want me to kiss it better? Where do you want me to do that?” Tord smiles, cocking an eyebrow. Tom spreads his legs to reveal his hot hole. Tord pushes a finger into his ass, wiggling it. Tom gasps and Tord leans in to start eating him out as he moves his finger in and out at a harsh pace. His nose is full of delicious smells of need and want and pregnancy, and it’s just driving him crazy.

Tord licks up into the folds and with his free hand starts to stroke Tom’s cock. He gives a few rough tugs and pulls, twisting just so and then there is a rush of wetness in his mouth as Tom cums again. He flops back agains the bed panting.

“Where were you… today? You said-,” Tom began, through his harsh breaths. Tord waved him off,

“I know, I know. My sincerest apologies darling. I promise I have my schedule cleared for you tomorrow.”

Tom narrowed his eyes and glared. It was honestly the most Tom thing he had done in a while.

“Is that a promise?”

“It is indeed,” Tord said, wrapping his arms around the smaller mans waist and tugging him in closer to kiss at his neck. Tom relaxed a moment later, allowing himself to be cuddled. He pushes himself back from Tord after a little bit, staring down at The tent in his crotch.

“Want me to take care of that?” Tom says as he slips his hands down to unbutton Tord’s pants before he can even respond. He pulls out Tord’s length, and if it doesn’t look amazing being gripped between those small hands, then Tom’s mouth is around him.

Tord is absolutely on cloud nine as Tom swallows him to the root. Tord moans a soft “God” as he puts his hand in Tom’s hair to gently guide him. Tom keeps sucking, bent over Tord’s lab with his ass in the hair. Occasionally he gags or chokes, but it seems to spur him on rather than deter him. By the time Tord cums down his throat, Tom is grinding himself into the sheets while he sucks, his cock once again hard. He pulls off with a dribble of white running down his chin and Tord swipes it up and holds it for Tom to lick. He does so eagerly, fitting way more of Tord’s hand in his mouth than he needs to.

Seeing Tom’s erection, Tord wrestled him into his lap and despite wanton protests, forces the omega to have another orgasm as he strokes his dick while ramming his fingers into Tom’s g-spot. Tom cums wetly across his stomach, which Tord licks off. Tom is completely limp in his arms as Tord rubs his swollen stomach, occasionally poking and prodding to get a feel for his state. They both start to doze.

When Tord wakes up the next morning the room is absolutely stifling with the smell of heat and pregnancy. His crotch is aching for some contact and Tom is basically woken by Tord’s frantic grinding against his rear. Tord realizes his mate is awake when Tom starts to grind back. At this action Tord goes for a first thrust inside Tom’s slicked up hole and Tom is being pressed into the pillows as Tord ruts frantically into him. Hands some around to play with his nipples and then slide down to rub at Tom’s stomach.

Tord thrusts all the way in and cums deep inside Tom as he splays his hands across his wide belly. Tord flips Tom over and is rubbing him all over, massaging his stomach, trailing his finger around the edge of his bump. Tom is panting and pleading for Tord to finish him off all through out it and Tord gives in once he finds his cock stiffening again. This time he fucks Tom on his back, watching the pleasure roll across his features like a series of broadcasts. He feels the cunt around him clench down hard and then relax. Tord pulls out and finishes across Tom’s round belly, rubbing the cum into it as he lets his mate ride out his orgasm.

Tord spends more of the day doting on Tom. The absolute best part is Tom lets him. He accepts the cut up fruit and spoonfuls of pudding Tord offers to him for breakfast. He lets Tord comb his hair and help him go to and from the bathroom. He tells Tord about his aches and pains and about melts in happiness when Tord rubs and massages at those problem areas. Tord admittedly can’t keep up with his mate’s libido, but he doesn’t mind pleasuring him. He sucks Tom off, letting his omega thrust up into his mouth as roughly as he wants, swallowing everything when he cums.

Tord is honestly waiting to wake up. If Tom let him breed him, would he get nine months of this? Tord’s mouth waters at the thought. Tom is beyond clingy at the moment as well. Whenever Tord so much as leaves the room, if he is gone long enough, he’ll either hear Tom calling for him to come back or find that his mate has attempted to waddle over to him, in which case Tord quickly ushers him back into bed and lays down with him.

Tom falls asleep shortly after dinner, which is a steak that Tord is permitted to cut and feed Tom forkful by forkful. He watches Tom’s eyes fall half shut and chuckles as he slowly tilts back into the bed, falling into it all at once. Tord does a bit of work at his desk, making sure to check in on Tom from time to time and then, when he himself finds it hard to stay awake, comes in to join him and falls asleep with his lover nestled tightly up against his chest.

This time when Tom wakes Tord up, it’s a lot less pleasurable for either of them. Tord wakes up to high pitched whines in his ear and a splash of wetness across his crotch.

“Tord oh god I don’t know what’s happening, everything hurts,” Tom moans. He grinds down onto Tord, His stomach is a size that is comparable to a woman who is ready to pop. His face is flushed an adorable red with little tears pricking his eyes. Tord is fully awake in an instant.

He jumps out of bed and rushes to his office to get his landline. He dials Lenker’s personal number.

“How’s 617?” Comes the immediate question.

“Tom is in a lot of pain. His stomach looks huge. What do I do with him?”

“Unless you want to throw away your mattress, I suggest getting him in the tub. Put his feet up on the rim, fill it with lukewarm to warm water. Other than that, if he wants to stop, let him rest. If an egg gets stuck massage his abdomen until it comes free. And don’t forget to have one sent to my door,” Lenker says before hanging up.

Tord returns to his room and tries to get Tom to stand up on his own. Finding his mate unbalanced, and terrified that he will fall and hurt himself, Tord wraps an arm around his waist and escorts Tom to the bathroom. Tom is leaking all sorts of fluid out of his cunt and Tord wrinkles his nose at the strong smell. He has to pick Tom up and place him in the tub. Even with added strength from his metal hand, Tom is heavy.

All the while Tom is begging for Tord to help him. Even Tom doesn’t seem to know how exactly he wants this help. Tord moves his feet up onto the tub and turns on the water. Tom seems to calm a bit at the warm rush.

Then he is yelling as every muscle in his body feels like it seizes up at once.

“It’s okay, just bear down Elskede,” Tord comforts as he peers between Tom’s legs.   
After a few more contractions, a white round shape peeks out between Tom’s folds. It’s then that Tom stops pushing,

“I can’t,” he whines, tear tracks drying on his face. Tord sighs. There is no way there is only one of these and he already wants to give up?

“No Tom, we can’t do that. You need to do this now, your body is saying its ready,” Tord says gently. He starts to press on Tom’s lower abdomen and the egg starts to slide out a little. He watches as Tom’s hole spreads wider and wider. Tom is a mess. He is simultaneously begging for more, pleading for less, and his cock is perking up in interest as his hole is getting stretched far beyond what he is accustom to. The first egg pops out at all at once with a sharp cry from Tom.

“You are doing so good baby, so good,” Tord coos. Tom merely offers him a timid pleased smile as he starts to push down again. When the second one appears at his rim Tom pushes and gets it maybe a quarter of the way out before he leans back in exhaustion. Tord starts to stroke his hard cock, which is pressing up agains his swollen stomach, as he reaches down to prod at the egg, coaxing it out. On the third egg as he is pushing down on Tom’s stomach, he comes as the third egg pops out.

The fourth egg proves to be a massive issue. They are there for about twenty minutes and nothing has appeared at Tom’s opening. Tord starts to poke and prod around Tom’s sore muscles, despite Tom’s attempts to get him to stop. Finally he locates a hard lump at a sideways angle. It is a little above Tom’s opening, but just under his stomach. Tord starts to massage it firmly.

“T-tord stop you are pushing it right against my bladder,” Tom whines, bringing his legs down into the tub in an attempt to close them.

Tord delivers a harsh slap to the inside of Tom’s thigh.

“Put those back up right now Tom, we are almost done. We are in the tub for a reason. Don’t worry about messing yourself. I’ve seen it all before,” Tord commands, Tom reluctantly listens, putting his legs up on the tub. Tord resumes his massage and Tom whines as the water tints yellow a bit and the forth egg slips   
out at last. His stomach is considerably smaller now and Tord things there might only be one or two left. He goes to prod at Tom’s stomach again when small hands stop him.

“Give me a bit,” Tom breathes as he turns his head to the side. Tord surveys his lover. Tom looks absolutely exhausted, despite the fact that his cock is hard again. He is breathing harshly and his eyes flutter closed for a couple minutes. Just as Tord is starting to get worried, they open and gives him a nod. Tord finds the fifth egg and helps to coax it down and out. Tom is aided by one last contraction and the egg pops out all at once.

“Is that all of them?” Tord asked.

“I think so. Can you take me out of here now?” Tom says as he shoots Tord massive puppy dog eyes.

“But of course.”

Tom finds himself in strong arms once again, being pressed to a warm chest with sweet words being whispered to him in Norwegian. He is brought back into Tord’s room and tucked into the side of the bed that isn’t slick with his pre-delivery fluids.

Tord leaves and comes back with a hot compress which he wraps in a damp towel and puts on Tom’s stomach.

“Is that okay?” He asks softly. Tom cracks open one dark eye and nods. Tord stays next to him for a bit, running his hand through the damp brown hair, using another wet towel to wipe off all the sweat and other bodily fluids across Tom’s body. Once satisfied Tord goes to leave and deal with the eggs. A hand reaches out to snatch his wrist.

“Where are you going?” Tom asks, looking at him with wide, vulnerable eyes. This man will absolutely be the death of him.

“I need to get rid of the mess in the tub, Elskede,” Tord turns to say. Tom merely shoots him this wordless look that is begging him to crawl into bed with him. Tord’s shoulders slump.

“Tom please, I have to do one thing and I swear I will be back.”

“Last time you said that, you were gone for hours.”

“On my honor,” Tord says, raising his right hand. Tom lets him go. Tord goes into the bathroom and at random picks an egg. He takes it to the kitchen and pulls out a bucket from under the sink, filling it with ice and then putting it in the bucket. He leaves it outside his door and after a brief phone call, he is sliding into bed next to a very content Tom. He pulls the exhausted omega to him and starts to croon gently to him, Tom responding with a small pleased noise before cuddling deeper into his alpha’s chest.

Sleep hits him all at once as Tord tries not to imagine Lenker wanking over his newly acquired egg.


End file.
